Children of the Night
by Jubalii
Summary: What really happened between van Helsing and Alucard? Was it as "by the book", or was it all a marvelous fabrication of a story that isn't as romantic as it appeared to be? Well, finally Seras is getting the answers she's been seeking: but it may not be the ones that she wants.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note**: _When I was a small Juju (let's say 6__th__ grade) I got my hands on my first copy of Bram Stoker's __Dracula__. Granted, I was too small to really understand the sexual parts of it, but I got the gist of it pretty well, and I loved the character of Count Dracula. Some of this love may have rubbed from Count Chocula to Count Dracula, but that's another story for another day. _

_The point is, afterwards when Juju was a little bit older (let's say 8__th__ grade), I got to see the 90's movie (without my parent's permission; Pentecostal parents would never let me willingly watch Keanu Reeves have a…foursome, I guess?). I liked it because Juju is a hopeless romantic, and of course later on I watched the Bella Lugosi version and then even later on I watched __Van Helsing__ (which I'm still not sure about my feelings on it. Hugh Jackman doe.) _

_The point is, I enjoy Dracula almost as much as the Major loves war. That's one of the main reasons I got into Hellsing. So you can say this is my homage to a Hellsing version of Dracula…. Sorta. It's like Seras is like "How dis happen?" and Alucard be like "See, wha' happened wuz" (coughs awkwardly) Anyway._

_Én nem a saját Hellsing. Én sem a saját Dracula. Ez egy rajongói történet._

* * *

"Master?" Seras sat under the phonograph, listening to the record play its scratchy tune. She was curled up under the end table, half for lack of a place to sit—half to see if she'd actually fit under there. She heard him clinking his glass against the table above her head and peered up at him. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to go ahead and ask her question. "We've been together a long time, right?"

"Your definition of long and mine are completely opposite things," he replied dismissively. Seras mused on that for a moment before crawling out from under the table as the music swelled to its beautiful crescendo. She knelt by his chair, resting her chin on the arm and humming along to the music before speaking.

"100 years is still pretty long, to me. I guess because I'm still so young." He nodded absently, his fingers drumming along with the music on the arm of the chair. "Exactly a hundred years," she repeated firmly. He looked down at her with a cryptic smile.

"I haven't forgotten. It's still as beautiful a moon as the one I walked under a century ago," he assured her. She laughed softly, listening to the final strains of music as the record ended and the needle began to skip on the vinyl.

"So you'll keep your promise?" she asked, fidgeting on her knees as she watched his hands move to stop the player. He paused a moment, tilting his head thoughtfully before shrugging.

"Remind me what it was that I promised you, Seras. I say lots of things." She sighed and leaned forwards, her breasts squishing against the arm as she narrowed her eyes and mimicked his rumbling purr.

"If you live to be a hundred, then I'll tell you what _really _happened," she quoted. "Word-for-word, Master; you've got to keep your promise. I know you hate liars." He waved his hand as though her words were visible things he could shoo away.

"Yes, yes. I remember now." He eyed her askance, crimson orbs meeting her scarlet ones. "Do you think you're prepared to hear such a tale? It's nothing like the book."

"I know it's not. You've told me before." Seras walked on her knees until she was sitting in front of his legs, reaching out to stroke the soft cloth of his pants before turning around and settling between them, one boot on either side of her hip. "I don't care how awful you were. I want to hear about what happened, between you and van Helsing." She craned her neck back, but was unable to catch a glimpse of his face. She heard his irritable sigh and he remained silent for the longest time, until she wondered if he'd _ever_ begin to start talking.

"You have to remember," he finally started, "that this was another time, another place. Some of the things I'll tell you will sound barbaric to your ears; although at the time they were perfectly natural occurrences."

"I told you a hundred years ago; I'm not going to judge anything until I hear the whole story." She turned around to look seriously at him. "I'm not human anymore; I've learned to relax my human convictions a little. You know that." He laid a hand on her head, rustling the hairs almost gently.

"Yes, my little Draculina. I know that." He frowned as the shadows around her moved and a familiar hat appeared, followed by the rest of the Frenchman who shared space in her head.

"I want to hear this too," he informed them both with a grin, smoke rising from the eternally lit cigarette he carried around. Seras scowled and shoved him back into the shadows with her boot, giving him her best angry glare.

"I'll tell you the abridged version later. Go away; this is a _private_ conversation." Captain Bernadotte waggled his eyebrows at her.

"If it's like the _other _sort of private conversations between you two, I want to hear all the details." Seras blushed deeply, her cheeks turning redder than her eyes as she kicked him full on in the face and forced him to dissipate into shadow tendrils.

"**GET OUT**!" she screeched angrily. Alucard laughed as she settled herself back between his legs, crossing her arms and huffing indignantly.

"No matter how many years pass, the French will always be the French," he declared with a sip of his wine. Seras growled at him before tapping his knee with her fist.

"Come on then. On with the story."

* * *

**Afterword: **

Many Prologue  
Very Short  
Much Mystery  
Wow


	2. The Excellent Mr Renfield

_"You would have gotten along well with Diana, Police Girl." Alucard leaned back, lacing his fingers as was his habit when he was about to launch into a story. _

"_Really? Who was she?" _ _Seras turned slightly to look at his face. Alucard smiled almost wistfully, looking at the wall absently as he remembered._

"_She was, at the time, the last of my bloodline. True, we were kindred of the most distant kind. I believe she may have been my 9__th__ cousin? But nevertheless, ties are ties and she was staying at my castle during this time. She was nauseatingly pious and had the most upbeat attitude about her unlife. She kept insisting, right up to her death, that I was able to be saved and see the light of Heaven." He scoffed good-naturedly and shook his head. "I won't lie—she was the only thing I felt any inkling of fondness for." Seras pouted and he chuckled, patting her head. "Besides you, I suppose." _

"_She must have been pretty, to be your family." _

"_She was… big-boned. In medieval times, plumpness was a sign of wealth, and she was a poor shepherdess who rose to ladyship. Needless to say, she grew large from those enhanced portions at suppertime. But she never grew __**fat**__, I'll give her that. She was simply big." Seras tilted her head, trying to consider a woman like that. "Besides that, she was very beautiful. Black hair, red eyes, more tanned than pale but that was expected—she was very comely." _

"_I guess I just imagined when I read the story that all the women were model-type women; you know, sexy, skinny, and perfect," Seras tugged on the hem of her uniform as Alucard let out a rolling peal of dark laughter. _

"_Van Helsing and the others simply didn't want to admit that they were attracted to a child, a tub of lard, and a prude. Not the manliness combination." Seras jumped and turned around fully, staring at him in disbelief. _

"_A child? You mean a fledgling, like me?" she asked, pointing to herself. Alucard shook his head. _

"_No, I mean an actual small child of about twelve years or so. You see, the old Countess Karnstein had died, and—"_

* * *

Vlad Dracula looked down at the blonde-haired waif standing unafraid at his feet, her tiny nose scrunched in anger as he laughed at her.

"I was told that this place would be safe for me! The others came after me when they saw that I'd been turned. Even my own father raised an axe and tried to carve out my heart!" she revealed, her tinny voice squeaking even higher in her childlike fury. "You have to let me stay here! Where else am I supposed to go!?"

"I don't care; what good is a small child going to do, even if you are the new Countess? You should go off and find yourself a Mother, little Nosferatu." He waved her away impudently, his mouth curling up into a grin as he felt the laughter returning. The child growled, stomping her silken-clad foot on the ground in impatience.

"I'm not leaving!" Her voice softened and she held up her hands in a pleading way, large crimson eyes blinking up at him like a humanoid puppy. "Please let me stay; just until I can find a Parent. Then I'll leave you alone," she promised, her eyes shining with tears. "I really don't have anywhere else to go. I'm all alone…." She trailed off as a single tear made its way down her cheek. The Count snarled his nose at her, crossing his arms.

"I'd of killed the Countess myself; this is why we don't have children for vampires. They're unstable." He regarded her warily, as if she were a wild animal he'd happened to come across and didn't know whether to run or try and fight it. "What did you say your name was, Countess?"

"Laura," she said unsteadily, wiping the trail off her pale cheek. "Laura Carpenter." She made a face, biting her lip with one fang. "Well, I suppose it's Karnstein now." He huffed at her new, more solemn expression and turned to the open doorway.

"_**Katya!**_" a moment later, an angry-looking woman with bushy eyebrows stuck her head through the door, fanning furiously with an expensive looking handheld fan with peacock feathers as the base.

"What?" she asked curiously before catching sight of the child peering from around his cloak. "Oh, no." She snapped her fan shut before brandishing at him. "You are not passing that creature off on me. It's bad enough I have to deal with that awful howling from those "pets" of yours while I stay in this filthy excuse for a castle. I am no one's mother."

* * *

"_If she didn't like your castle, why didn't Catcha-or-whatever leave?" Seras asked, her face wrinkling in disgust for the woman's demeanor. She didn't like the sound of this one. _

"_Well, her husband was off fighting a very important war with a neighboring faction. That was in fashion during those times. To keep herself from getting all bloody, she asked to come stay with Diana in my castle. I really didn't have a choice in the matter; she was already there by the time I raised my hand to say no." He smirked. "I threw her out to the wolves whenever she became to rambunctious and defiant. She learned quickly my boundaries. I was still the King, after all." _

"_Oh. So she just complained to have something to complain about." _

* * *

"You'll do what I tell you to do, or you can find your way back to your war-torn country." The Count pushed the girl in her direction, ignoring the child's slight look of terror despite her clinging to his coat and backpedaling as fast as her small feet could move. "Now go let her wander around and be lazy with you. Diana is busy and I have an important guest arriving later tonight, so you shan't be in my way." He gave the child a final push, where she let go and stumbled into the mean-faced woman with a tiny shriek. Lady Katya snapped her fan open and fluttered it, walking along with a mutter on "uncultured southern countries" but nevertheless grabbing the girl's hand and carrying her away.

The Count watched them leave before turning and leaving through an adjoining door on his way to the rooftops. He knew he was getting close as the refrains of a song made their way to his ears and he paused, tilting his head to hear the melody with a sigh.

"_Noel! Noel! O night, O night Divine—" _He finally made it up to the summit of the crumbling turret, looking up at the woman perched daintily on the ruin as she sang her Christmas song to the moon. She finished the last few strains, the wolves howling along with her and she looked down with a tender smile. "Good evening, brother."

"Good evening, sister," he replied in turn, looking out across the mountains to the west. His guest should be there any minute, passing over the mountains. His pets, the wolves, would alert him to the visitor as they heard the creaking carriage wheels and smelled the blood of the horses beating in the animals' veins. "Why do you insist on gracing this God-forsaken place with hymns?"

"If you've sinned, you can be redeemed. I do it for us all, my brother." She fell down beside him with a muffled thump, her breasts almost hitting her face as they seemingly defied gravity for a moment with their girth. "You too, could repent and be allowed back into God's graces."

"I could. But I won't, for I gave that up long ago. You know." He looked again at the landscape before turning back and letting the moonlight wash over him for a moment. The tranquil night of his homeland never ceased to calm him after he was forced to speak to Lady Katya. "We have a new guest; the new Countess Karnstein."

"Yes, I thought I heard a new voice down there." He didn't bother asking how she could sing so loud and still hear individual conversations going down below. "She's just a child, isn't she?" He nodded and she sighed, shaking her head with an uncharacteristic frown. "What was Milady thinking?" she softly complained. "Children have no business being vampires. Bless the poor thing; who knows how the dear lost her maidenhood."

"You are more than welcome to go ask." She gave him an exasperated stare. "I'm sure she'd tell you it was the Countess herself. She's not but twelve at the most. She burst into tears when I told her to leave."

"You shouldn't have done that, you big brute."

* * *

"_I agree. You shouldn't have made a child cry, Master." _

"_What does it matter to you? I don't care much for children, anyway. Noisy, stupid creatures who always manage to be dirty and sticky." _

"_Master."_

"_Seras."_

"_Yes, Master. Continue, please." _

* * *

Long before the night was over, the wolves howled the approach of the solicitor's carriage. The Count decided that he was almost beside himself with excitement, the same way he always was when his plans were coming to fruition. He shooed the three ladies out into their personal wing of his castle before quickly setting out the banquet he'd had his Gypsy servants bring up. He set the large fire in the grate ablaze and waited for the inevitable knock on the door.

It came sooner rather than later, and he was obliged to make his way downstairs with a lit candelabrum despite the way the bright flickering lights hurt his sensitive eyes. He threw his shadows across the floor to open the heavy wooden door, peering out into the gloom at his visitor.

The man was almost as tall as he was, with slicked back brown hair and thick rimmed glasses. His pressed suit looked far too restraining and he held a hat and cane under one arm as he stared up at the bats flying around the turrets with avid fascination. After a moment, the Count cleared his throat and his gaze jerked from the sky to his host standing at the door.

"Well! I was beginning to think I was in the wrong place," he proclaimed cheerfully as he held out a hand. "R. M. Renfield, at your service." The Count maneuvered the candelabrum to shake his hand and felt a strange jolt of energy pass between the palms. A look of understanding crossed the solicitor's face and he smiled knowingly at the Count, but stayed where he was on the stoop. They sized the other up for a moment before the Count swept his hand across the threshold and motioned.

"Welcome to my home," he stared carefully, eyeing the man askance. "Enter freely and of your own free will."

"Thank you; I shall," he said assertively and practically stomped his foot over the threshold before walking with a brisk pace to the fire. "Oh, I've been longing for a little warmth," he said in pleasure as he held out his hands over the flames, almost too close for comfort. "I daresay your home is quite the cozy structure, if not needing some outside work. You're moving to England for the renovations?" he asked conversationally as he turned his back to the fire to warm the other half.

"You could say that I'm looking for a change of scenery; an escape from my current life, if you will," the Count replied as he took the man's hat and cane, moving it over with his luggage. He couldn't help but feel that something about the solicitor was… off. It wasn't his appearance, which in all aspects seemed to be that of a forty-something year old human male. It wasn't his words, which while eccentric weren't anything to be worried about. But something in the timbre of his voice, some ancient, unworldly quality in the subtle aspects of his tone—it set him on edge with the closest thing akin to fear that he'd had in years. Something in his blood was warning him away from the man and his knowing smile.

* * *

"_Wait, wait—is Mr. Renfield going to end up being another vampire?" Seras arched her brows as she twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "That's a little obvious, don't you think?" _

"_He's not a vampire; he's too good for that." Alucard smiled mysteriously. "Or is it too bad? I can't ever recall the difference between the two, since one is just as annoying as the other." When Seras looked at him strangely, the smile fell from his face. "Quit interrupting or I'm going to stop telling you the story."_

"_Oh, alright." _

* * *

"Mr. Renfield, I must insist that you eat. You've been travelling a long way and I'm sure that you're famished." The man pushed away the proffered wine with a smile and shake of the head.

"And _I'm _sure that I'm perfectly fine. Please don't bother yourself for my sake."

"I insist."

"I decline."

"I _insist._"

"You really are making this hard for both of us, you know." The man crossed his arms, eyeing the Count over the rim of his glasses. "Just take my word for it; _I want nothing to eat._" The Count furrowed his brow, but something told him not to press the issue further.

"Now, if we're done with this silly nonsense, I have the paperwork for you to sign right here." He reached down and pulled a briefcase up from underneath the table. While the Count was trying to remember if he'd seen the solicitor place his case under the table, as well as try to figure out how he lost all sense of control of the situation, Mr. Renfield pulled the papers from the case, tapping them on the table to neaten them up.

"Where do I sign?" the Count sighed in defeat as he moved around to look at the papers. Renfield pushed the silverware away and laid the papers flat on the table, motioning with a quiet murmur for him to sign his initials and so forth on the lines provided. "There."

"Jolly good!" Renfield returned to his cheerful self, returning the papers to their proper place and pulling out a box of what appeared to be various objects crammed into its contents. "Now, if you'll give me a minute I'll—ouch!" He pulled back with a muffled swear, eyeing the blood already pooling up on his finger. "Damn pins get me every time." He licked the offending finger hesitantly, grumbling when it did nothing to stop the flow. "Of all the times—"He stopped speaking when he saw the look on his host's face. A wicked grin crossed his features and he raised his hand up to eye level. "Want a taste?" he offered quietly.

The Count sniffed the air with a look of shock. The solicitor—he wasn't human! The Count didn't have the faintest idea _what _he was, but he wasn't human at all. He briefly realized that it explained why he refused the food so steadfastly. Still, the blood—it shone in the dim light as if it were embedded with crystal shards, the crimson lighting into iridescent colors and dancing in the pale glow of the fire. And it smelled so strange; so familiar, and yet he'd never sensed anything like it. It was almost as if the atmosphere itself were charged with energy from the moment the blood came into contact with it.

"It's good," he affirmed, and the Count irritably swiped his own finger across the smear of blood before licking it and almost choking. It was a shot of pure power, as if he'd been struck by lightning while drinking whiskey. It burned like hellfire all the way down.

"What are you; a demon?" he sputtered as he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. Renfield smiled and shrugged.

"It's the closest thing that you mortals know to call me, so I'll let it slide. I prefer the term succubus, though. Much more specific." He smiled and looked up at the bats hanging in the rafters. "It's rude to call someone out on such a thing, you know. I knew you were a vampire but I didn't make you tell me anyway."

"You knew." The Count felt a familiar pang of fury starting to work in his chest. This man—demon or not, this man played him for a fool!

"Of course I knew, old chap! It's not hard to tell." He looked over in surprise at his host. "Now, don't be so hard on yourself. I'm good at manipulating people's minds as I wish, and I was doing a damn good job on you until I started bleeding." His eyes flitted down to his finger with a frustrated look.

* * *

"_But—"_

"_**Seras**__." _

"_I know Master, but how does a demon end up working as a lawyer?" _

"_I was getting there."_

* * *

"If you're truly a demon, why do you work as a solicitor of all things?" Mr. Renfield stared pensively at the fire for a moment before shrugging.

"Why not? It's something to pass the time with, and besides the general idea is that lawyers are evil anyway." The Count stared incredulously at him.

"It is not." Renfield waved his hand dismissively.

"Give it another hundred years or so. Oh, the jokes people make." He pushed himself up on the table, knocking aside a goblet as he crossed his legs and tilted his head, hands holding one knee as he considered the vampire standing before him. "Oh yes," he said in answer to the Count's unasked question. "I know everything there ever is to know about the world. I don't really exist in this plane as you can. I can be here one moment and then-" He flickered out of existence, only to be standing on top of the mantle precariously. "I've been waiting _here_ for about a hundred years in another plane, just now." He smiled at the Count, hopping down from the mantle to stand beside him and look at the fire. "And I know what you're planning on doing, in England. I can help you, you know."

"Let me guess; deal with a demon. You want my soul." Renfield's nose scrunched in disgust and he waved his hands wildly.

"That shriveled, blackened thing? Absolutely not; let the Devil have it." He grinned viciously and leaned forward, motioning for the Count to do the same. "But I will make you a deal. You can have my help for one thing; when the time comes, I'm going to give you a gift and advice and you'll accept both with equal measure."

"Advice and a gift." The Count narrowed his eyes at the thin man, looking him over for any sign of a loophole. "Advice and a gift," he repeated.

"Sure." Renfield held out a hand. "Do we have a deal?" The Count took it, feeling the warm palm in his own as if it were about to bite.

"…Sure."

* * *

**Afterword:** Please don't make deals with demons. Unless their like Renny. Then you may want to just think twice.


	3. Aboard the Demeter

**Author's Note:** The stanzas from the song Renfield is singing is a real song called "The Master's Song". It's from the Broadway production of Dracula.

Needless to say, I don't own it.

* * *

"Are there electric lights in England?" The young Countess asked the owlish man sitting in the chair curiously. He nodded and she cooed with interest before taking off in a dead run again around the table. She flapped the borrowed cape behind her, the bats following her blonde head like some strange sort of pets. The now-capeless Count Dracula reclined in his seat, scoffing.

"What do you need _electric _lights for? Firelight is good enough; it's been good enough for years." Renfield shrugged and popped another spider into his mouth as though it were candy.

"Humans are always coming up with things they don't need. How are electric lights any different from that?" he replied calmly, humming a tune under his breath. The Count didn't answer and he grinned at him before singing softly. "He sails across the seven seas; his ship cuts through the waves. And when the crimson moon comes out he drinks the blood of slaves," he crooned. The Count sneered at him and he winked. The Countess stopped her mindless race around the table and walked over to stand next to the strange man, the cape dragging the floor behind her small frame and collecting years' worth of dust on the hem.

"What do you mean?" Countess Karnstein liked the man, really. He was friendlier than her new guardian and he wasn't even a vampire! He was a little strange, but she liked it about him. The Count had dragged her into the room away from the other ladies to listen to them talk about going to England. They asked if she wanted to go too and, true to her youthful nature she'd jumped onboard the idea in a frenzy of adventuresome character.

"I mean that we're taking a ship across the oceans to get to England. It's easier to bring along your coffins that way." The newer vampiress scrunched her nose up at the word "coffin", but nodded anyway and began to jog with the bats around the table again. Renfield smiled at her despite his host's angered look.

"I still don't like the idea of her coming along. How are we going to explain to the captain why two unmarried men are bringing a small girl aboard the ship?" he asked in a subdued tone, so not to bother the child and make her ask more unnecessary questions. Renfield sighed, having had this conversation before his host at least five times by now. He motioned the vampire close and pulled a deck of imageless cards out of his pocket. He sat twenty cards face down on the table between them.

"At any one time in every mortal's future, there are a total of twenty possible paths that you can take, resulting in twenty different futures that branch out into twenty more paths, and so forth and so forth," Renfield explained patiently as he fingered the corner of the card nearest him. "I, fortunately, have the power to see these futures as they're being made. This is, you would guess, a very useful gift." The Count waved him along impatiently, bored with the details. The demon raised a single eyebrow and the hand stopped moving, although the Count scowled and looked away.

"As it were, there are ten futures before us in which we take this ship without the accompaniment of the young Countess." He maneuvered ten random cards away from the rest and snapped his fingers. All the cards lit up with black flames and burnt away in seconds. "Those futures all end in terrible disasters that have you at the bottom of the ocean and me unable to do a thing about it." The Count stared at the scorch marks on the table and remained silent.

"Now, the other ten futures involve us taking Countess Karnstein to England." He tilted his head to study the cards, as if reading something through the pattern on the back. "We arrive safely in all ten cases, but seven of those involve a rough storm that threatens to tear the ship apart." He pulled seven away from the other three but left them unburnt. "These three here have us making an unscheduled stop in Spain. Hmm." He bent over the cards, scrutinizing them with sharp eyes. He finally shrugged and leaned back in the seat. "Either way is fine by me, seeing as we'll come onto dry land intact." The Count rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Can you see beyond us landing in England? Does my plan come to fruition?" he asked almost eagerly. Renfield obediently bent over the cards once more, but shook his head after a short moment.

"The futures overlap too much right now. We have to go forward in time and _do_ things before they begin to carve their own path." He tilted his head again, this time staring at the Count. "It's true what they say; time flows like a river. We have to go down the river before we can see where it branches off." He smiled and began to pick the cards up. "Ask me again when we get to England. It's sure to have changed by then, depending on if we stop in Spain or not."

* * *

"_I'm taking it that you didn't stop in Spain at all, did you Master?" Seras asked as she leaned up against the end table, drinking the proffered glass of bloodwine. Alucard smiled and sipped his own glass, staring into the distance. _

"_I'll get to that in a minute." _

* * *

"England? Truly?" Diana shook her head vehemently. "I do not think you should go." She began to wring her hands, turning to stare out the window at the lightening skyline. "England is full of new ideas; they don't follow the Old Ways." She bit her lip. "It may be very hard to fit in there."

"Nonsense," the Count laughed as he began to undress. Diana looked at him with a reprimanding frown and moved behind one of the paper screens, allowing him the privacy he clearly didn't care for. "You're right, though; England is full of new ideas and cultures. It's high time I go see what the world is coming to. We're so cut off here." He couldn't see her face, but he knew her concerned frown was plastered all over it behind the expensive screen.

"Still—it's alright for you to go off with that Mr. Renfield," she started, saying the name slowly as if she were trying to taste the words. "But taking that child with you? She's a babe in our world. She knows nothing!"

"All the better yet to take her with me. I'll watch after her until we find a suitable human who'll care for her for eternity. Then I'll leave them to their business. If anything else, I'll take them both back to France and they can stay with the coven in Paris." She didn't reply, and he felt her silent consent to his plan. "And furthermore, don't bother worrying over me. Just take care of this place until I return."

"Of course, brother. Katya has agreed to stay until you arrive home safely." He nodded, looking at himself in the mirror with a frown before pulling his nightshirt over his head. He rubbed the stubble growing on his chin once more before turning to motion with his shadows that she could come back out.

"If all goes well, I may call for you to join me in England," he said musingly. Diana shook her head, her face terrified.

"No! I'd rather die in the sun than go across the ocean. No thank you; I'll stay right here where it's safe," she asserted firmly. He laughed and pinched her cheek, making her blush as she realized he'd only been jesting. Of course he knew she'd never step foot on a ship. It was hard enough dragging her through the desert on the Crusades.

* * *

"_Master, you're so mean sometimes. Can't you leave people alone?" Seras teased as she plucked at his sleeve. He grinned and flicked her nose with his finger, making her wrinkle it and lean away from the arm of the chair. She pouted up at him, only to be laughed at. _**Well**, _she thought, _**at least he has a sense of humor, however small**.

* * *

"The Demeter." Laura Karnstein read the name slowly as she paused by the gangplank to allow the sailors to load up their cargo without her being in the way. Her guardian and Mr. Renfield were talking to the captain of the ship, all three speaking animatedly and waving their arms about as they discussed tentative dates of arrival. Their conversation was "man-talk" and of no interest to her.

She was more interested in the strange, rough tongue of the sailors. The Count had told her they were Russian. She sat on an extra barrel of something-or-nother, listening to them move about and jibber-jabber under the moonlight. She adjusted her fur-lined white cloak and the heavy brocade dress beneath, her blonde curls falling around her ears. She fancied that she looked like a pale fairy, one from the stories her grandmother used to tell her when she was a human child.

But she wasn't a human child anymore, as much as she wanted to be. She wished for nothing more than to go back home to her little hut, where her _anyu _and _apu _would be waiting for her, along with her many brothers. She wanted to go back to the life of a poor farmer's daughter, where the only thing she had to look forward to was being married to the shepherd one day and living a wonderful, farm-free life out on the mountainside.

Still, the Count and his ladies had been telling her since she arrived at Castle Dracula that being a Nosferatu wasn't so bad, once you were used to it. Yes, you had to drink blood, but you lived a long time and you got to see so many new things! Besides, now she could talk to bats and rats and even insects—but it gave her a headache and they didn't have much to say, unless she told them to do something for her. And when she'd been undead for a little longer, Diana promised that she could learn how to be a bat herself, or mist or even a large animal like a wolf! It did sound exciting!

But right now, she had another more pressing job to think about. As she watched the men move around her some small part of her, deep in her unbeating heart, was watching them with a close eye. She was looking for a Parent, although she wasn't all that sure what a parent was.

She kept meaning to ask the Count, but he was always running around in such a busy whirl that she hadn't had time to flag him down. She didn't think that he really liked her anyway. Yes, he tolerated her and even teased her like he did all the other ladies in the house on occasion. He even let her wear his cape when he was relaxing in the great hall. But she decided that because she was a kid, he didn't hold a lot of stock in her ability. Or maybe, he just didn't like children. Either way, according to the captain he was stuck with her below decks for a couple of months at least.

A sailor motioned to her and chattered in Russian, pantomiming that he needed to take the barrel. She sighed and he laughed, lifting her up off the barrel to sit her on the tall post that held the rope anchoring the ship. She grinned and thanked him, although she wasn't sure if he spoke any English at all. She herself had only learned once she went to stay in the previous Countess' castle as a future lady-in-waiting (or so she thought).

* * *

"_How do you know she was thinking all this?" Seras asked in confusion. Alucard's mouth turned down at the corners and he let out a heavy exhale, as if the thought still vexed him. _

"_Children are so noisy. They'll say whatever's on their minds without a single thought. She chattered my ear off about it the entire time we were on that ship, that's how." _

* * *

"The schooner runs before the storm, the crew is all below. The captain fights to steer a course, the Master strikes him down!" Renfield gave out a cackle of laughter as he swung in a makeshift hammock—the last of the netting that had been salvaged from the broken mast of the Demeter. At the bow of the ship a waterlogged Count Dracula was steering the vessel through the waves with a maniacal glare, his stomach churning and full of blood. Renfield leaned up from his reclining position and shouted down to him over the roaring of the ocean. "Turns out it was storm after all, eh old chap!?"

The Countess lay sobbing on the stairs that led to the cargo hold. She was afraid to stay down there with the mauled corpses of the sailors, who'd given their lives to the Count when the precious food supply had been depleted due to a misguided course that led them a month astray. She was afraid to go on deck with the Count, because the ship was almost rocking sideways with the force of the waves despite the shadows working to right it and keep leaks from springing. Not to mention the creepy songs that Mr. Renfield was spouting off.

Suddenly, she had no choice but to go above deck when a heavy wave washed into the stairwell and came back with the tiny child along for the ride. She screamed, scrambling on the slick deck and finally grabbing hold of a rope that was still attached to the mast. She pulled herself until she was clinging to the snapped base of the ship, splinters digging into her palms as she held on. The wood was too slick though, and she went sliding again as the ship rocked backwards, the Count standing horizontally on the deck as it almost flipped. She hit the steering wheel and immediately let go with a horrified screech as she came face to face with the bloated, rotting corpse of the captain. He'd tied himself to the ship's wheel and died there, and no one had bothered to untie him so the ropes cut into the putrefying flesh and green pus and fluid leaked from the wounds.

"No!" The ship came down with a resounding crash and she was flung backwards, her body flying out over the bow and above the open water. A gloved hand reached out and deftly snagged her own tiny hand, pulling her flush with a hard body and she clung to her temporary guardian with a relived sob. She'd almost fallen overboard, and would have been lost in the water's depths forever. She understood why Diana didn't like traveling. She would have given anything to be at that dusty castle right now, staring at the wolves prowling outside and bored out of her mind!

It seemed that as quick as it happened, it was all over. They hit a hard surface, the Count backing up a pace and then steeling himself and the child clinging to his waist as the ship tilted precariously before slamming into the hard ground. Renfield gave a shout as his hammock tipped and he fell out, landing on the deck on his feet like a cat. He blinked and then wiped the water off his thick frames with his shirt, which had somehow become dry in all of thirty seconds. He placed them back on his head and looked up at the cliff they'd just ran aground on. "By George."

"Count Dracula… is that?" The Countess reached out a wavering hand, moving in even closer to her damp companion and pointing up at the foreboding looking church looming on the top of the cliff and the hundreds of stairs leading all the way down to the base. The moon hung low above the towering structure, casting an eerie light on the whole scene.

"England, my dear," The Count crowed triumphantly, patting her wet locks and not seeming to care that she had his waist in a death grip. "It's England."


	4. Carfax Abbey

_"Wait, Master," Seras stopped the narrative yet again, holding one finger in the air as she mused. "What about the story? Count Dracula meets Johnathan Harker, who comes to his castle." She thought another moment. "Or is it like the movies, where the Count meets him at the opera?" _

_ "It's neither, my frustrating little fledgling," he snapped, one foot tapping on the ground in the beginnings of irritation. "And if you keep interrupting my tale, you'll never find out how either." Seras' lips snapped shut and she stared balefully at him, but didn't say another word. _

* * *

"Wake up!" Something smacked the side of his face and he turned his head to the side with a snarl, too tired to bother pushing it away. It'd taken a lot of energy to steer the ship through the storm and safely to harbor and now he was exhausted. "Count Dracula, rouse yourself!" the fluttering thing smacked again, this time harder. Finally, something grabbed ahold of his eyelid and he found himself facing the bright daylight and a mass of curly blonde hair. "Please, get up!"

"What is it, unmanageable child?!" he snarled, raising himself out of his box of soil with the intent of backhanding her across the room and into the pile of corpses. She'd scream and hurt his ears, but she'd learn to stop messing with him when he was clearly resting. He raised an arm and she cringed; he lowered it not a moment later when thudding footsteps sounded above his head.

"They took Mr. Renfield! We have to get out of here before they find us!" the tiny Countess whimpered in fear, staring up at the light filtering through the cracks in the ship. The Count looked up as well, his mind racing to think of a way to get them both off the ship without being spotted. After a moment he nodded to himself and stood, shaking the dirt from his clothing. He picked up the girl as if she were nothing and carried her across the room, his own footfalls noiseless. He placed her in a tiny gap between boxes and held a finger to her lips when she made way to argue.

"I'll fetch you in a minute. Stay here and hide in the shadows. Don't let them catch a glimpse of your cloak." Her frightened eyes stared up at him, but she nodded and obediently drew herself back into the gloom until she was one with the murky darkness in a way that only Nosferatu can be.

He hunched his shoulders, his form shifting into a wolf's shape and he shook out his new fur after a moment, ears perked as he heard the men begin to descend the stairs. He only had a small window to make his escape and find a safe, dark place before he could bring the child. He looked around, his wolf eyes growing more accustomed to daylight, and then leaped up the stairs and around the exclaiming men before jumping from the bow and running up the stairs leading to the chapel.

He turned the corner and found an abandoned building, boarded up and desolate. He phased through the stone with no problem before trotting through a door and down into what appeared to have once been a root cellar. He sniffed all around the small cellar, leery for signs that humans had been down there recently. To his relief, the only smells were old herbs and dust.

He shifted back into a human form, calling forth his powers. A moment later, he held out his hands and the Countess landed in his arms from a shadow vortex with a small shriek. She looked around, her eyes glowing like an animal's in the darkness. He knew that, like himself, she was seeing the dark room as if it were bathed in noon sunshine.

"Where are we?" she asked quietly, her gaze flitting to the floorboards above their heads.

"An abandoned building near the church, in the root cellar. We'll have to make the most out of this brief sanctuary, and venture forth to Carfax Abbey tonight." The girl nodded after a moment and wiggled out of his arms to brush herself off. She walked around the room, testing the strength of different objects before dusting off a shelf with her hands and stretching out on it, her back against the wall.

"He bought us time, you know. He said he knew what was going to happen, and if he bought time we could escape. We have to rescue him." she told him, closing her eyes. The Count said nothing, curling up in a corner to rest and one ear listening for any signs of intrusion.

* * *

"Oh, so it's a real abbey then?" The Countess tilted her head and blinked up at the arches bathed in moonlight. "For some reason, I thought it would be more… homey, like a townhouse." She shuffled her feet and chewed her bottom lip as her companion said nothing, moving around to view the large griffons that stood on the stone pillars marking the start of the walkway.

"It was an abbey, once," the Count muttered as he eyed the statues in disgust. "Griffons—why not gargoyles or lions?" he grumbled. The Countess didn't reply; she walked up the cobblestone pathway slowly, her hands behind her back as she craned her neck to stare at the impressive architecture.

Even as young as she was, she did live in a Lady's house during her human life. She knew good aesthetics when she saw them. The abbey was meant to be seen, and exalted. Tall, imposing arches rose high into the sky, their points tapered. The thick front wall, over half of it rising above the rest of the building and meant purely for decoration, was built of weathered stone and had ivy creeping up the sides and through the cracks in the otherwise solid foundation. Two tall turrets broke apart from the rest of the wall, drawing the eyes in to the triangle shaped point of the roof.

The other walls were slanted away from the main front wall, their arched windows dark and dirty, some broken and looking like a face with jagged teeth. It was clear that no one had lived there in more than a few years. If the dilapidated windows weren't proof, the unkempt grounds were. Thick bushes were overgrown with thorns and stood against the side of the house, ragged and ugly. A lone oak tree, trunk split in twain by lightning, still stood with leaves on only one side of its branches. Weeds grew abundantly beside a trickling stream that curved around the side of the abbey and out of site. If it were well cared for, and trimmed up, it would have been a handsome home for someone. But as it was, it was just an eyesore.

"There's a lot of work to be done out here," the Countess summed up her opinion as she reached the two gigantic wooden doors. She stared at the crumbling façade above them with a frown. "A lot of work, indeed."

"We'll have lots of time to work on it while we search for Renfield. But first, we need to get the boxes settled and feed."

"I'm not all that hungry," she argued, having been forced by the Count to drink a little before retiring for the day. "I can go until tomorrow. We need to be looking for Mr. Renfield." The Count smiled enigmatically and waved a hand at the doors, which opened on their own. He walked by her, patting her head as he entered his new abode.

"You'll see why soon enough. Now come, little maggot. We have lots to do and less time to do it in."

* * *

"We need to speak the language of these people," the Count muttered as he stooped down to her level, pretending to adjust her furry hood around her blonde curls. "What, do you think we can speak to these Londoners in our own ancient tongue?" he teased. She scowled at him and tossed her head, breaking his fingers away from the clasp of her cloak.

"How do I know? I don't know your tongue," she argued irritably. "I don't know what you're talking about." The Count grinned and yanked hard on one curl, causing her to let out a tiny yelp.

"Then how are you talking to me? I don't speak Hungarian from habit, and you surely don't speak my now-dead language. But still, here you are; fighting with me." She blinked up at him vacantly and he sighed. "Listen, you brainless waif. Nosferatu all speak a language of their own. It's instinctive. Now, to speak the language of the English humans we must partake of English blood. Watch me, I'll show you how." He couldn't believe that he was actually going out of his way to teach the child.

It wasn't as if he had to; she was _not _his fledgling, and for all he cared she could get trampled by horses or fall off a cliff. But he'd made a promise to Diana that he'd look after her until she could get her own Parent; a vampire of the child's making that would serve as an eternal guardian. And part of that meant helping her learn the ins and outs of vampirism until he could drop her off to live with Lancelot in the Parisian Coven.

He found an eligible candidate standing on the corner, selling matchsticks. She didn't have the accent of the poor, but she wasn't a high-class breed, either. It would do, until he could devour the Murray girl and make her his eternal servant. It wouldn't matter in Transylvania if he could speak English. He strode over quickly, looking like another customer wanting a matchstick to light a pipe with. He made quick work of her, hypnotizing her into following him out of the street and into the murky gloom of the alley. He drank first before handing the cold body to the girl.

"Drink, but don't finish her and turn her into one of us," he ordered. She turned her nose at the offered neck, having before drunk from goblets in the castle. "Don't be picky; drink." She scowled up at him, but obediently bent her head and drank a few mouthfuls before tossing the body off to bleed out in the gutter.

"She's dead, right?" she asked softly, looking at the match seller's paled face. The Count nodded once before turning and looking at himself in a pane of cracked glass. He concentrated and his hair and clothes became like the ones wore by the upper class gentlemen walking the streets just outside the alleyway. He grinned viciously at his reflection, the shadow swarming under his boots and quivering in anticipation.

"Well then, Countess. I do believe it's time that we put our noses to the grindstone. We have a young lady to locate."


End file.
